Splotch of Red
by Suffering Angel
Summary: It was just putting it on, right? He kept telling himself that, eyes set on the red fabric of his old cape. Pre V2


I don't own YA.

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**_Splotch of Red_**

He runs his hand over the fabric, fluid and smooth, like he remembers it should be. A finger slides through a hole, intentionally placed there to give the attire a certain style. Medieval and magical, he remembers thinking it was, at the time. He also recalls the long hours he stood in front of the mirror, idolizing his reflection with the bright red blowing behind him. He didn't hate the name but he _loved_ the suit, this costume that set things apart from Billy Kaplan, turning him into his vigilante alter-ego. But that's all the former Wiccan has to show for himself - an old, unused outfit, rotting away in his closet.  
He sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose as he tries to recall why he came to the closet to begin with.

This isn't the first time this happened, his stalling over this specific hanger. A part of him wonders why he even keeps it there, when every time he so much as looks at it it brings back another wave of unpleasant memories, followed closely by weakness and nausea. He tried several times before to put it away in storage, out of sight, but every time, without fail, the same thing happens - as soon as he takes the hanger off the rack he's overcome by a bizarre sense of nostalgia, a weird longing. Memories float up, not all of them bad - some are better, some are actually _good_, of success and praise and camaraderie. Of times that made it all seem, when all was said and done, worthwhile.  
He tugs at the suit, eyes running over the pattern on the side as he tries to make sense of what he's feeling. What was it? That's what it takes to be a hero? You don't stop fighting...  
He takes hold of the other side as well, pulling the body-suit almost off the hanger.

Maybe- maybe just put it on, he thinks. One time, three- five minutes. See if it even still fits... what it'll feel like... he did it before, when they called them over, to show the- the memorial statutes.  
A lump forms in his throat. He squeezes the fabric between his fingers. He's not going to do anything, just put it on, right? But... is he still allowed to do even that much? To even pretend to be, for but a moment... still a hero?

A knock on the door makes him jump. He pulls back, slamming the closet shut. A splotch of red is trapped between the doors but Billy fails to notice it in time. He turns to find Teddy there, having let himself in as the door was only half closed. The blond takes a moment to survey the scene, but his smile betrays little beyond a minor amount of caution.

"Just me, no need to hide the porn."

"It's not there, anyway."

"Oh, I know." Teddy laughs softly and Billy relaxes, but just a bit. He closes his eyes when Teddy kisses his cheek, thus missing the questioning look he's given.

"How'd the guild-raid go?" Billy asks and sees that look in Teddy's eyes that means he knows something's up. The staring contest is, however, a short-lived one.

"We got served. I'm surrounded by amateurs."

"Time to defect."

"Probably."

There's a snicker and a hand on his waist, and Billy realizes he's out of distractions.

"Want to tell me what's on your mind?"

He does, so much it hurts, drying his throat and constricting his chest. He wants to tell Teddy, but how? And what, exactly?

"Just... thinking that maybe..."

He tries to gulp and manages somewhat. He feels sheepish, self-conscious, but knows that if it's Teddy, he can tell him, right? Without being ridiculed or judged. And if it's Teddy, then maybe- maybe they could do it together? Maybe even- go outside? Just for a round, not actually do anything... that should be ok, shouldn't it?

"Billy?"

"You want to head out tonight?"  
The question is exclaimed rather than asked, catching them both by surprise. Teddy's the first to recover.

"Sure. Where to?"

"Where..." Billy echoes and suddenly his bravado's gone. He's lost, unable to get the words out. Suddenly, when it's closer than ever to be fulfilled, the idea doesn't seem so great anymore, and he realizes he's scared. It's not even hesitation, it's _fear_. Because what happened the last time they put on these clothes... _did_.

"Times Square." He says at last, and tries to seem confident in his own words. "There's that new figure line out, right? We could wrestle kids for it, then go for cheesecake..."

There's that look again, but Teddy again keeps it to himself. He nods instead after a moment's thought.  
"That sounds great. Head out in thirty?"

"Sounds good, yeah-"  
Billy's words are cut short when Teddy pulls him into a hug, holding him tightly. For a moment he thinks about pulling away, but Teddy's hold is too true, and he resigns himself to his fate before hugging back. He thinks that's why Teddy hugs even tighter still, ever oblivious to the fact Teddy saw the bit of red sticking out of the closet, and knows full well what it's connected to on the other side.


End file.
